User blog:Corbierr/My story, Chapter 2
' So here is the second chapter, as promised. Tell me what ya'll think- I still have some revisions to do, but I think it's fine for now. ' If you haven't read the first chapter, here is the link-LINK ''Chapter 2- '' By the time I had returned home from babysitting that day, it was already six in the afternoon. The streets were quiet. I pedaled my bike on the dirt roads that passed through quiet neighborhoods on my way back to my house, and next to a forest on my left where no houses were built. Usually animals were out and about, and I took my time, but today was different. The sky was dark and the air was tense. I could sense just as easily as the animals could that there was a storm approaching. I had to move quickly, because I was already wet enough from the hose and didn’t want to add anything else to this long day. But things were stirring. Now I was about three blocks away from my house, and the clouds were coming closer. I could feel the pressure, and knew the storm was about to start. Swearing under my breath, I kept pedaling on, reminding myself that getting caught in the rain was not too big a deal and that I didn’t need to be upset over something so little. Hearing a noise, I stopped my bike and looked around, but I was alone. It was probably just the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. Yes, that had to be it. I kept pedaling. The first rain drop landed on my shoulder, then another, then another, and soon I was caught in a downpour. I kept riding my bike through the muddy pools that were building up in the road, ignoring the splashes, trying to get home before the streets flooded. It was harder to see, in this rain, and I found myself desperately wishing I had brought a jacket with me. A flicker of a shape in the road distracted me and I fell off my bike, landing in the wet, muddy grass with a groan. I stood up, brushed the dirt off of my red knees, and looked around through the rain to see what I had seen, or at least thought I had seen. But I was alone, as far as I could tell. ''I know what’s going on, ''I thought, with a sudden panic. ''The monsters coming to capture me and make me one of The Missing! I have to get out of here! '' I picked up my bike, jumped back on, and started pedaling as fast as I could. I was horrified. But I was also determined to get myself home, and fast. The road turned bumpier the farther I went. My street was nearby. I pedaled faster now, and the rain came down harder as if the sky itself was trying to slow my progress. The minute I made it to my house I let my bike fall onto the lawn and ran inside, not even bothering to take my helmet off. I locked the door. I closed the window, then the blinds, then reached to turn the light on before realizing that the light was ''already ''on. That must have meant my mother was home. Relieved, I kicked off my sandals and removed my helmet and went to go find her, calling her name as I walked through the hallway, as I wouldn’t feel safe despite my escape until I saw her. “Mom?” No answer. I called for her again. Still no answer. Maybe she was asleep. I went to go peek into her bedroom, being quiet as I could be as not to wake her. The rain slamming against the roof of our house didn’t exactly help, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. The door was closed. Quietly and slowly, I turned the knob and moved the door careful not to make a sound. The room was dark. I stepped inside, ignoring the drops of water I was tracking on her carpet. “Mom?” I whispered. She wasn’t there. Panicked, I grabbed a chair, went over to a window, and sat myself right in front of it to watch outside. Maybe she had been coming home and got caught in the storm like I had, but didn’t have a bike like me and had to walk, as there was really no other mode of transportation. I kept looking at the clock on the wall, too, to keep track of how long I was waiting for her. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. She didn’t come home. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be happening. Trying hard not to jump to conclusions of what happened to her, I tried to stay calm and decided to call the school. Maybe she had to stay after and couldn’t figure out how to contact me. I grabbed the living room phone and dialed the number. It rang for about a minute, before going to the answering machine. I swore and hang up. I almost called my dad, but realized I didn’t have the number of the bar he was probably at right now with his work friends, and there was no other way to contact him. Reminding myself again not to assume the worst, I walked laps around my house trying to think, forcing myself to think, and calm down, and wait for her even longer to come. I turned the outside light on, just in case, and nervously unlocked the door. Whatever I had seen out in the street was long gone, and my mother was the real priority now. I hoped she was okay. She ''had ''to be okay. She was always okay, and she was always the one to make sure that ''I ''was okay. But it was late, and it was storming, and she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she was out of the rain and staying with somebody, but then why didn’t she call? On my fifth lap through the kitchen, something caught my eye. I paused and turned to the fridge, feeling my heart beat even faster. There, on the freezer, was an envelope being held by a magnet, ''the ''magnet, the one of my mother and I. The one that we always used for messages to each other. I should have known to check here. But she hadn’t put a note up for me in years. Usually it was just a note reminding me about something, but a whole envelope? I couldn’t imagine what she had to tell me this time. Possibilities swarmed through my head. Whatever this was, it had to be important. I took it off the freezer and stared at it, as if that alone would give me all the answers I needed. On the back, it said, in my mother’s neat handwriting, To Amanda. Open in private. From Mom. The breath caught in my throat. She called me Amanda. She never did that, except for rare occasion, when I was in trouble or something was wrong. And open in private? What was so important that I had to open it in private? And why was there even an envelope, like she had known this was going to happen? ''Did ''my mother know this was going to happen? If so, why didn’t she say goodbye to me? There had to have been some time. Right? But that was impossible. Unless this itself was her way of saying goodbye. Maybe whatever happened to her happened right after our kitchen conversation? Maybe if I had tried to keep our conversation going….No, I couldn’t blame myself. Whoever’s fault this was, it wasn’t mine, and it couldn’t have been my mother’s. We were victims, both of us, I was certain of it, and this letter would explain it all. After a minute, I took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Category:Blog posts